Caged
by treasurehuntingforever
Summary: A short introduction to a possible story involving Sam getting his soul back.   I don't own Supernatural, I'm only borrowing the fantastic characters and incredible plot.  Please review if you think I should continue...
1. Chapter 1

Caged

It was full of empty spaces, this part of Hell. There was no color. No black abyss, no blinding white light. No green grass or dead orange leaves on the ground, no blue skies or rain that fell. There was no ground to stand on, no sky to look at. No sun for clouds to obscure. It was complete nothingness, and Sam had never felt so alone, or so exposed.

It's strange, the feelings that nothingness can stir within a soul. He tried to find his arms or his legs, but he couldn't. He could see the nothingness around him. He could scream. He could hear Adam and Lucifer and Michael, but he couldn't tell where they were. He heard an exceptionally loud silence from Adam, constant, hateful and unbroken. He could hear the shades of Michael's anger, and the depth of Lucifer's pain.

That's what this hell was; everything encompassed by nothingness. It was the worst kind of torture; the torture one will inevitably inflict upon himself. Sam hated himself more than he ever had.

More than when his father died without knowing that Sam was sorry.

More than he had when Dean went to Hell and Sam couldn't stop it.

More than when Jess had died because of him.

He heard their voices in his head, taunting him. John spoke softly of how he always knew how much of a monster Sam was. Dean's voice cut like a knife, asking Sam why he had betrayed him, telling him that this sacrifice would never make up for what he had done. Jessica's voice caressed him like poison. _You watched me burn. You moved on. You never loved me, did you? _

Sam would have cried, but tears didn't exist in this part of Hell. So Sam settled on nothing, growing further apart from his soul every day, every year, and every decade. Time crawled in this part of hell; a month wasn't ten years. A month was a thousand. By the time Sam was pulled out, his soul wasn't a part of him anymore. But it was still half of the old Sam, trapped in hell. Enduring every day the echoing of the voices of past betrayals.

And so the monster that is Sam walks the earth. When he gets put back together again, who knows what he'll do? After all, this special Hell shaped the Devil himself.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Whatever you do, Sam, don't scratch the barrier…."_

_Searing pain. _

_White-hot._

_Death's firm grip._

_A blinding light._

Sam couldn't breathe. He couldn't see the room around him. He couldn't feel the bed he was chained to. He couldn't see the tears that fell from his brother's eyes. Only a world of pain, and something clawing at his mind; at his memories.

_A hand in his chest. _

_His soul squirming inside him._

_Unfamiliar._

_A betrayal of emotions._

_The worst kind._

_Pain._

_Anger._

_Guilt._

_Regret._

_Love._

Sam prayed for death. He prayed _to _Death; the figure looming over him. He begged.

_Broken._

_Shattered._

_Wishing to die._

_Reborn into a world with no place for him._

Sam fought against the soul being forced into his body. He pushed back with his mind, against the blinding pain and the foreign discomfort. He pushed harder than he ever had in his life. Sam Winchester didn't want to _be_. He didn't want to be himself again. He didn't want all the Winchester baggage he'd been carrying around all his life. Sam Winchester's paradise was life without a soul. Life as a monster.

_Disgraceful destruction, tearing at the seams of his sanity._

_The dance of life and Death begins._

_A brick wall in his mind; his lifeline, his salvation._

And suddenly, it was over.

Rather, it had begun.


	3. Chapter 3

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was color. All the colors, so prominent and rich. It was as if he was seeing the world for the first time. Then, without warning, he felt a terrible itch in his head. He shook his head to clear it, and found he couldn't remember the names of the colors. His eyes searched the room around him desperately, and saw two men. One was relatively old, the other relatively young. Both were badly shaven and looked completely exhausted. These men seemed so familiar to him, and yet he couldn't remember seeing them anywhere before. Another itch invaded his mind, and he shook his head more intently, craning it to the left then the right in short twitches.

The younger man strode towards him, and un-cuffed him from the bed.

"How d'you feel, Sammy? Night at the Roxbury?" the man asked, laughing.

"Uhhh…. Who? What?" he spluttered back helplessly.

"I said, how d'you feel, Sasquatch?" the man repeated brusquely.

"Why are you calling me Sasquatch? Who are you?" his voice was confused and predictably vulnerable.

"Ha, ha."

"No. Seriously. Who the hell are you? And… who the hell am I?" he found that he couldn't remember his name.

The younger man swore loudly, while the older man sighed deeply and ran a hand through his gray hair.

**AN: Sorry for the short chapters, the next ones will definitely be way longer. :)**


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